You Found Me
by HollyShadow88
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr. John's patiently waiting for Sherlock to come rescue him from yet another kidnapping, but the detective's reaction at the end is slightly less expected than usual. Rated M mostly for...vaguely mentioned adult themes? Yes, I suppose that's about right.


**So yeah. Sherlock fanfiction. It was inevitable. This came from a post on Tumblr earlier that said the following: "****john getting kidnapped and sherlock bursting through the door to rescue him and trying to untie him and but his hands are shaking too badly while john is perfectly calm and ends up soothing sherlock and promising him that everything's fine while he's still tied to a chair" with the plea, "****_Can someone please write this as a story? Pretty please?" _under it. Let it never be said that Shannon I. Hicks deny any such plea when something can be done about it, so...here. Have some feels. It isn't the best it could be, I'm sure, and the ending's a bit corny, but I wanted this posted because...of reasons. Let me know what you think?**

You Found Me

John cringed slightly as he stretched out his neck, attempting to fend off the inevitable soreness from being stuck in one position for so long. The unmarked van, packed full of the human traffickers they'd been tailing for the past week, had jumped him on the way to the office, resulting in multiple dull hours of sitting in the darkness of an empty room and waiting for what would happen next. He thought, not for the first time since he'd been roughly shoved into the metal folding chair and skillfully tied to the point of numbness in his fingers, how incredibly _long _this part of a kidnapping took place. The mere fact that he had the ability to give an opinion concerning his own snatching was enough to make him chuckle, despite his situation. The things he'd learned to grudgingly accept once one Sherlock Holmes had strolled elegantly into his life.

Though it might have been foolish to depend so fully upon a single human being, John felt a decent amount of confidence that Sherlock was on his way to his rescue. They'd been close to finding them up to that point – close enough that John was able to spot the leader of the group from the deductions Sherlock had made at the most recent crime scene without having seen the man before in his life – and they weren't exactly original, at least not where Sherlock was concerned. Which left John in his current state of limbo, attempting to wait patiently for the detective to place the final key elements into his enormous mental chart of connections and deductions that would eventually lead to the small basement in a nondescript house just outside of London. With nothing but the four emotionless walls at each of his sides to amuse him, it did not take long for John's patience to grow weary and his mind to wander. He'd been fighting against following the path it had been pounding down on him to take for the last hour or so, but wasn't sure how much longer he could last. Not to mention the fact that the inevitable arrival of the subject himself wasn't likely to help matters…

He was momentarily and brilliantly blinded by the sudden jarring burst of the door facing him being thrown open, a looming silhouette darkening the abruptly revealed space turned an eerie black from the light gushing from behind it. The edge of the figure's jacket flicked in irritation from the motion as he straightened, a single long arm reaching up towards his neck. He appeared to take a deep, stuttering breath before striding forward, pausing only once he had knelt at John's feet, lifting blue-green eyes to meet John's.

"Sherlock," he breathed out, a half-grin forming of its own accord at his lips. "Took you bloody long enough."

The detective didn't respond, instead reaching a tentative hand up to John's temple. John cringed a second time as Sherlock's gloved fingers barely brushed against the cut running from the edge of his hairline nearly to his eyebrow. Sherlock instantly tore his hand away, an odd mixture of emotions crossing his face as he finished pulling off his scarf and reached inside his coat, grappling through the various pockets. He pulled out a miniscule bottle of water, pouring a bit of it carefully on to the piece of fabric and bringing it up to John's face. With a tenderness John had thought incapable of the man, Sherlock gingerly wiped at the drying blood, tactfully avoiding glancing back into the doctor's eyes.

"It's not much, certainly, but it will have to do for now," he eventually stated, rising gracefully to his feet without lifting his face. He abruptly turned and swooped behind John, kneeling once more to untie his bonds. John allowed him to struggle for a moment before choosing to speak again.

"Sherlock," he muttered, waiting for the man's grunt of acknowledgment to continue. "Sherlock, look at me."

The detective froze, the only verbal sound of his extreme agitation coming in the form of a roughly heaved sigh. He cleared his throat lowly, the catch in it hardly noticeable, and went back to attacking the bonds, blatantly ignoring John's request. John, meanwhile, craned his neck about awkwardly, just barely able to glance down at his nearly frantic friend.

"Sherlock," he stated again, firmness fixed in him from his army days creeping into his tone. "I saw your hands shaking. You'll never be able to get that undone in the state you're in now. Now look at me, you daft git."

Finally, Sherlock's head lifted, managing to glare at John despite the glittering of fear that edged just along the outside of his eyes. "You were kidnapped, John; I believe I have every right to have at least a touch of concern."

"You're never this worked up about it, though, not before now." He took a moment to look Sherlock up and down before continuing. "You obviously rushed out of the flat to get here – your shoes are the same style, but one of them's brown and the other's black. Your scarf was folded in an entirely different way, indicating that you were agitated when you put it on. And your mouth's all stern and pursed, exactly as it is whenever you're worried, plus the pretty obvious shaking. So what is it, then?"

Sherlock couldn't help the chuckle that emitted from said lips, though it nearly sounded like a sob. "Since when are you deducing me, John Watson?"

"Since you won't sodding tell me what the honest fuck is wrong," John replied calmly, genuine concern turning his wording sour. "Stop avoiding the question!"

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sherlock glared down hard at the still knotted ropes. "They weren't planning on killing you, John. They were going to sell you to the highest bidder."

John gaped down at the dark, curly head, once smug thoughts at having deduced the great deducer screeching to a halt. "They…what?"

"They were planning on selling you into the trade, John!" he shouted, once more viciously attacking the bonds. He fought at them savagely, though his quaking grasp barely allowed him to hold on. "They planned to do with you what they do to the others – send you off to the brothels in God knows where, never to be heard from again! What if I couldn't _find _you, John? What if I'd been too late?"

The man was nearly on the verge of hyperventilating, and John desperately wished he could seize his shuddering shoulders in his arms. There was nothing he could do until he'd been untied, however, and that would only occur once Sherlock was calmed. Words, for now, would have to do.

"Sherlock, I want you to look at me." He readily responded this time, searching out John's gaze like a man starved. John made sure his voice was steady, each syllable carefully annunciated, as he spoke. "I'm fine. You found me. Everything's fine. You always find me and you always will. Don't you ever doubt that, Sherlock Holmes, you hear me? _You will always find me_."

At his final words, Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed, his head gradually falling against the hard back of John's chair. For several minutes they simply remained thusly, Sherlock attempting to curb the almost silent sobs that wracked his thin frame while John continued to mutter soothing assurances. Finally the detective wiped furiously at his eyes, his expression turned determined, and snatched at the bonds. They came away seamlessly, his carefully guided digits loosening the rope with a steadiness he normally saved for his experiments. Once they were loosened, he rose to his feet and pulled John with him. The shorter man instantly snatched him into his arms, his fierce grip returned with equal fervor. John slowly pulled away, simply to grasp Sherlock's face in his hands and plant the tiniest of kisses on his lips.

"Everything's fine, Sherlock. You found me."

Sherlock let out a steadying breath before pulling John forward, tucking his sandy head below his chin. "And I will never stop looking."


End file.
